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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24425395">Touch</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/SyntheticStarfire/pseuds/SyntheticStarfire'>SyntheticStarfire</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Hannibal (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/F, Fluff, Light Angst</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 07:15:47</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,622</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24425395</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/SyntheticStarfire/pseuds/SyntheticStarfire</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s hard to stay away, it’s impossible to be close. You knew relationship with Bedelia wouldn’t be easy and accepted the fact, but it's hard anyway. Yet you manage.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Bedelia Du Maurier/Reader</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>28</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Touch</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I just rewatched Hannibal because I remembered that Bedelia exists and this is the result... My first time writing for her or anyone from the Hannibal universe, I hope it's fine! ^^</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>"Touch gives the world emotional context.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The touch of others makes us who we are.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>It builds trust."</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Speaking from the view of others, you were not in a relationship.</p><p>Despite knowing the opposite to be true, your friends and family often expressed their doubts if this person was <em>the right one for you</em>. Some who were merely more than acquaintances were as bold as to say this person was <em>just a thing of imagination</em>.</p><p>You forgive them every time. You can’t blame them, really.</p><p>They all saw you with your previous partners. They’ve knew you your whole life, or most of it. They know how affection you are, how clingy you can get. They know how much you enjoy showing off your partner.</p><p>And yet…</p><p>Although you are, <em>you claim to be</em>, with your partner for over two years already, none of the people closest to you have seen them. All you told them is that they make you happy. That seemed to satisfy them at first, but it has been a long time after all.</p><p>Curiosity is one of the things you’ve come to understand quite well. How wonderful and destructive it can be. But you don’t tell them, because it was <em>Her</em> who taught you.</p><p>Some of them have met your partner. They just haven’t realized it. You don’t blame them.</p><p>In those moments, after all, you yourself barely believe you truly are dating.</p><p>Walking down the street or talking at a conference, your conversation is purely professional. You write down her words to your notebook or record them. If you’re lucky, you might take a picture of her. Nonetheless, it is all very sterile. No one suspects a thing – more than that, it would never cross anyone’s mind. Which is kind of the point.</p><p>Actually, that is also up to debate. One of your colleagues did joke once that <em>She </em>was exactly your type. You gave it a thought and made some excuse as to why he was wrong. You knew he’d forget the exchange before you got into the car, but your heart was racing for the rest of the day. It still does when it just so happens that you find yourself working with him somewhere she is.</p><p>It is challenging. You don’t know whether your job is a curse or a blessing. You get to attend the lectures and presentations with her, only not <em>with her</em>, you get to interview her. It’s better than not seeing her at all but it’s all professional. You need to keep your distance. It’s hard. It’s hard when you’re jealous of everyone she looks at, because she won’t look at you on point and you know it. It’s hard to see her shake hands with someone she meets for the first time because that’s more contact than you got that week. It’s just hard.</p><p>There’s a good reason for all these precautions, you know. Maybe not the exact reason, but it’s enough. She told you that by associating with her you’re putting yourself at great risk. This all is for your own safety. You trust her. She only wants to protect you and the best way to do so is to keep your relationship a secret. One little slip up could cost you both dearly. She made that abundantly clear.</p><p>Still, you loathe the people swarming around her at conferences. She’s charming, wonderful. She’s radiant and breathtaking. You’re painfully aware of all that. There’s of course nothing to worry about unfaithfulness-wise. However, the underlying problem is that even knowing that gives you barely any comfort.</p><p>You just miss her. Yearn for her. <em>Ache for her</em>.</p><p>Calling and texting are hardly options. Too easy to trace should anyone try. You wonder, sometimes, whether if perhaps you found a bottle small enough to pass through the tap and big enough to carry a letter you might reach her that way.</p><p>Sometimes when you look out of your window and watch her house, your and her yards seem like a wild sea separating you, the fence an unclimbable wall. It makes you feel creepy though, so you don’t seek for the sight of her that way.</p><p>It’s hard. It’s painful.</p><p>And she knows. Obviously she knows. She’s intelligent. One of the top psychiatrists in the country and you are <em>hers</em>. Naturally she knows. And you know she knows.</p><p>It’s clear from the bouquets of flowers that you sometimes find waiting in front of your door. The flowers change. Roses, red and white, azaleas. Lately, it’s been hyacinths mostly; <em>asking for forgiveness</em>.</p><p>It’s clear from the notes left in the flowers, or sometimes on your floor as they fall through the letterbox on your door. They are written in her neat handwriting. The smell of her cologne lingers on them. They are gentle, loving. Suddenly, for a few minutes, it’s good she doesn’t see you because you’re a mess, crying and sniffling.</p><p>In any case, it’s comforting to know that she’s been here. Perhaps in the dead of night, hidden from anyone’s sight, but she’s been near. She’s still protecting you.</p><p>That’s why even getting together was a herculean task. Years of pining for each other, longing, pushing away and pulling close; all that done in a way that no one but the two of you knew. She caused more heartbreak than any of your previous partners. And yet you’ve still choose to be hers and <em>are </em>hers. Always will be.</p><p>Even though it’s hard. She can be extremely cruel.</p><p>They tease you, your friends, asking about your domestic life since clearly your relationship is unsuitable for the public. They like to joke that maybe you live together but don’t realize it as you avoid each other even at home.</p><p>You smile and laugh. They can never tell if it’s honest or not.</p><p>It’s true that Bedelia is detached, awfully so.</p><p>Perhaps it’s a habit.</p><p>When she deems it safe, she comes to you – makes your home hers as well.</p><p>It’s awkward at first. You’re excited, filled with joy, threatening to burst. Yet her calm demeanor grounds you. The air around her keeps you still, calm on the outside while the storm inside rages. And she knows.</p><p>It’s easy enough to see. She’s curious what you’ll do. Yet, afraid to scare her away, you always comply with how she is. She doesn’t comment on it, but you think she’s grateful. Perhaps she’s waiting for you to snap. Maybe when that happens, she’ll give you the same smile she wears when something excites her.</p><p>You start slow, taking your time. At first it’s accidental touches as if your instinct is drawing you to her. Sometimes you even apologize, but there’s a silent something in her eyes that makes you stop. You can’t identify the emotion yet for some reason you believe it’s hurt.</p><p>If you’re cooking together, you let your fingers linger against hers as you hand her something. You stand close to her, not too much to seem to hover over her, just enough.</p><p>Then you allow yourself to caress her, fleetingly. Her skin is always so smooth, begging to be touched if only she let her walls down. Sometimes you can’t hold yourself back anymore and hug her tightly. She indulges you, she always does, putting her arms around you too, holding you safely in her arms.</p><p>Still, mostly it’s just your knees brushing as you sit close on the sofa and chat, hands finding each other, fingers intertwining. Little comforts. You’re grateful for the opportunity to talk freely. To hear about what is new in her life, to talk about yours, converse. To be able to tell her you love her. That you missed her. And you know she’ll say the words back, in due time.</p><p>Because even if she seems distant, cold, she isn’t. Not really.</p><p>You go to sleep, lying close yet with enough space between you. She told you that you tend to extend a hand towards her when you’re falling asleep. You don’t know about that but you do know that in the dead of night, she wakes you up. Not on purpose, she just couldn’t sleep, she’ll say.</p><p>Then she’ll kiss you. Softly as if pleading with you to let her continue. She’s careful, gentle. The walls she built will start crumbling down. She’s getting more passionate with each kiss, she shows you how much she longed for you, <em>ached </em>for you. She’s holding your face in her hands, caressing your cheeks. You pull her closer by her waist. There’s no oxygen in your lungs but you refuse to separate until last second. And even then you tease each other, fleeting kisses or gentle kitten licks to lips. Your bedroom fills with giggles.</p><p>Her hands start to wander, as do yours. Exploring your bodies, proving to yourselves that it’s real. You undress each other soon enough.</p><p>There’s nothing sexual about it. It merely reveals more skin to touch.</p><p>The direct contact always makes her shiver at first. She’s not used to being touched, or touching for that matter. It’s all slow gliding of hands against skin. Assuring each other that it’s true. That you’re both alive and safe. That the love is mutual, as deep as ever, your bond unbroken by the challenges. There’s a lot of skin to explore, and you can’t help but savor each other. It’s the most wonderful little eternity you’ve ever known in your life.</p><p>But when, inevitably, you start dozing off, she pulls you close to her chest. She’s soft, very much so, and warm. You can feel her heart beating, each breath she takes. It’s soothing. Everything else fades away. The only thing present in your mind is her.</p>
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